


Trauma-Comfort-Hurt(s)Me -verse

by inelegantprose



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Annie Cresta-Centric, Canon Compliant, Experimental Style, F/M, Finnick Odair-Centric, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2016-03-01
Packaged: 2018-05-01 16:13:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5212376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inelegantprose/pseuds/inelegantprose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"((Everything stops. Feels like leaping or sleeping. Feels like the whole world exists in pianissimo, and arms – lovely arms, holding, finally touch that doesn't feel like violence, he's lifting her, she's clinging, burying/burrowing, this is everything ever made.))" Annie and Finnick put each other back together again. All the Odesta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From Annie's rescue onward. The project of this quasi-experimental fic is a visceral understanding of these two -- of trauma and its effects on intimacy. Plus your standard Odesta goodness.
> 
> Rape/Non-con warning is for mentions -- I'll TW for anything graphic or described in detail should it arise.

First thoughts, post-rescue: flying? Definitely – gut rising (relief, then, to feel  _that_ core insteada), hair shimmering around elbows like electricity, rumbling that for once isn't coming from the inside of a head. Still rising, must be take-off or – something wrong? Not hovering like – you know – the name implies ("hover" … "craft") so something  _must_ be wrong, should probably—

Rising like being what lifted into what the first – yes lifted from the training center to what the oh yeah fishbowl, so full of water  _that_ arena, last time?—

 _Still_ rising, surely something's wrong, rumbling louder hands over ears, hum – loud humming, drowning, eyes shut please, thank you, loudest hum except cold?

Looking down: sheet fallen to the waist, hands were holding (oops) now naked  _kill me_ ears uncovered, pull it back up, Joanna isn't naked, Peeta isn't naked everyone can tell, something  _different_  happened &  _shit_ , still have hair. So lovely. Still going up? Rubbing the sore spot from the prick – "standard sedative" the soldier said, so brains like soup, nothing new. Annie'd let him carry her out of the plush Capitol cage like a bride, pretended him Finnick, never believed it.

A minute to find her voice. Sore, mouth underused / overused but in all the wrong ways, she thinks Johanna is sleeping, no Jo, don't close yr eyes, that's how they get you,

(that's how they got her, was sleeping, home in Finnick's bed, suddenly arms everywhere – how did they know she'd been living there? How did they know in which house to look?)

Wait drat, who to ask, soldiers looking so straight ahead, names, any of them? Oh but: the nice boy who'd told them to stop before touching her, let her collect her breath because when they first when to touch she  _jerked_ and wept and he said  _taking you to Finnick, Annie, you can trust us_  – Katniss Everdeen's cousin, grey eyes like 12 –  _Gale!_ "G-gale? Why are we still going up?"

"S'a hovercraft, dipshit," Johanna mumbles, words smearing, eyes still shut.

"Soldier Hawthorne, did you give her the sedative?" Someone adult, sounding like a stronger woman than she, strong as Johanna (before shocks & such) and Katniss Everdeen.

"Yes sir," says the cousin (Gale, a person, something remembered, see her brain wasn't ruined). "We're ascending, Annie. Should level out in a few minutes."

"Oh."  _Oh. Ascending._  Beautiful word in all this hurt. "Okay."

Try to do the thing where cover ears but can't hold the sheet everything hurts. Rumbling so so loud like death or a cannon or a dam bursting. Hmmm—

Gale's voice gets quiet like a secret (secret? Like Finnick, his bed, living in that house,  _how_ did they find her?). "Hey Annie? Do you want earplugs?"

Johanna is slurring: "If you don't shut Cresta up soon I'll need some too."

Is that Peeta laughing? No but he looks different now, so tense, is he restrained? Annie's not. Gale gives the earplugs and everything goes away. Humming dies. Can hold the sheet too, small pleasures.

Sleep is too awful, too scary. Do the thing and  _leave_.

She's floating somewhere around 4 (water, definitely, but like a small domesticated ocean? Somewhere soft. Bath?) when rumbling starts again, even if she can't hear it she can feel it in her stomach, something is  _VERY VERY WRONG_ and why is no one reacting to the fact that they are literally falling out of the sky? Ripping out earplugs—

"Can somebody please calm Citizen Cresta? We're preparing for descent."

Somebody she guesses means Gale. He rustles around, does he look unhappy? Displeased. He doesn't like this job, Annie thinks, it isn't his, poor heart. Holding a needle – don't they have doctors for this? Nurses, for the trackers they had—

Descending to where, what arena, what tracker what?

"I am very calm!" Annie insists, her voice rising octaves, arias contained in four declarative words. "Please don't—"

Another soldier, strange accent: "Think another sedative might do more harm than good? She's pretty frail."

"We're almost down. Annie? You gotta focus now," says Gale, a little gruff still trying to look her in the eye but Annie knows now that people only do that when they want you to know they're going to hurt you, every which way, she wishes she could have clothes like 4 like home although whoever grabbed the sheet was very kind.

Annie nods her head and tries to be good. If she holds the sheet up in the middle at her collarbone, she can cover one ear, leans against the wall to cover the other. Sacrifice.

 _WHOOSH_. Descent is quicker, Annie lurches, grabs an arm. "Don't lose your lunch, Cresta," Johanna murmurs which is funny because they haven't been given lunch in weeks and weeks, or breakfast either or dinner, except also it comes out more like  _Donloseyrluh,Cehss_ because Johanna's mouth is a mess of syllables, then the  _THUD_ of a landing and Annie is screaming, so sure it is another arena and now she's fucked because who wins by luck twice in a row? But they tell her it's only 13, she'll accept that for now she'll accept anything, and sure enough she can see people waiting without weapons, just two stretchers and a wheelchair.

Peeta looks bad. He's out but thrashing, makeshift restraints on Stretcher #1 and Johanna is mad because she's supposed to go on Stretcher #2 until Annie says "You can have my chair, Jo" which nobody likes but Johanna, and Annie doesn't mind being babied anyway, she doesn't care about seeming not-strong (that's what Finnick's for), lies back as they push her down corridors feeling like a lily left in a pond, blossoming into rot, swimming into the heart of 13 whose elevators are so claustrophobic. Panic attack.

Then bright white, like being born: sterile, everything, this is a hospital and Annie is panicking, there was a hospital in the Capitol too, with shots and blood except they didn't want to heal her there. Peeta gets wheeled away and everyone is fussing –  _where is Finnick?_ – and Johanna hates it too, she's scowling and shoving and lurching until she's unconscious  _where is Finnick_ legs swing over the edge "Ms. Cresta? We're going to ask you lie back down now" is that Primrose Everdeen? Remember her from TV?

Annie lies back dutifully but it's a classic Games fake-out, playing dead (or in this case obedient) because the nurse turns and then Annie bolts trailing tubes where is Finnick where is Finnick they lied he's dead they lied he's gone they lied where is Finnick where—

(Then the whole balance of the room/world/all-of-the-above shifts somehow, she can feel it under her feet because:) " _Finnick!_ "

"Annie?" Wildly s/he's running,

"FINNICK!"

(( _There you are._ Everything stops. Feels like leaping or sleeping. Feels like the whole world exists in pianissimo, and arms – lovely arms, holding, finally touch that doesn't feel like violence, he's lifting her, she's clinging, burying/burrowing, this is everything ever made, so quiet she can hear his hasty caught breath, the coughed away sobs, kissing her face again and again, eyes shut, when his mouth meets hers it's like an IV, sounds icky & yet – life into her somehow, alive again somehow, like trickling sunshine into her blood and then kissing her eyelids, her nose, arms tight almost like pain but perfect don't go, don't let go…))

"My heart," he says, pressing a kiss by hers, pulling his face from her to do so, to smile this smile that feels like relief or sadness or elation, to let himself see the entirety of her existing there, living.

"Nodon't," Annie says. She buries her face in the crook of his neck, resumes indivisibility, this is no time to step back, to be weak. "Nodon'tletgo."

He makes his lips home in her hair, makes promises. "Never again. I won't."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annie and Finnick practice spelling, and also physical contact.

Annie dreams of anagrams for hospital, wakes up remembering only a handful, sure she had hundreds:  _loathe sip. Halo tips. Hail stop. This opal. Ship alto. A host lip. A hot slip. Has lip to…_

(Eyes still shut but – trying not to panic. Old techniques: what can you notice without opening yours eyes?)

  * Stiff fabric – sheet? Not from before. Something else. Also: a gown. Back _open_? Moment of panic but she’s lying on her back, should be okay for now, investigate further later. 
  * There is a needle in her arm there is a needle in her arm there is a (now stop, love, remembering deep breaths, remembering…)
  * There it is, impossibly light, almost unnoticeable. _Touch_ : soft, tracing. In between her fingers, the crook in her elbow, the rivets in between her ribs – pocket places, quiet intimacy.
  * Busy sounds also beeping. Whirring. People who are allowed to talk to each other and also to her, who take care.



(She opens her eyes.)

_There he is._ (Blink, and:) _There he is again._

Looking around: small room no windows maybe 4 by 6 plus small bed small girl (Annie thinks _me? Is that my corpse there, that body on that bed_ ) boy beside in a chair pulled to the edge IV stand monitors no shackles and there is definitely a, yes, a butterfly bandage on the girl’s cheek. Placed carefully over a slight scrape she didn’t think would be noticed, somebody noticed, somebody checked on her.

_It was real? It was real._

Annie smiles: “Whatcha doing?”

Finnick starts, jerks his hand away, and no, don’t let go, don’t stop, now Annie wants to weep. “You’re awake.” The softest voice in the world. Annie wishes he would tell a joke, try to seduce, pull a face, kiss a mouth, be sexy be silly be anything but tender, he’s most tender when he’s most afraid.

“Mmhmm.” Shifts a fraction of an inch closer to him – take it all in, those eyes that skin, painfully pale (why so pale?), gorgeous deepest eyes framed in purple, bronze hair limp but lovely, catching the fluorescents like a sea of important flickering blazes, like being alive. “You are, too.” She blushes, feels like an idiot, that didn’t make any sense, of course he’s awake, how can he still do this to her after all these years, make her feel so shy, how—?

He can’t help himself, touches the burst of pink cheek, seems to sigh, pulls back. “I’m sorry.” His gaze shifts, falls onto the collarbone – feels like he’s taking in so much, and she wants to say _yes! Take it! It’s all for you_. “I was. Reminding myself.”

Finnick sorry to touch her face? Doesn’t make sense so she deletes it. Impossible. And reminding? “Did you forget me?” (Fear.)

Here he smiles the tiniest amount. “I was worried I did, but I didn’t. I remembered you perfectly.” He taps her nose, puts on the Capitol accent they used to adopt so frequently: _Finnick my sweet, would you be EVER so kind as to dry the dishes? Annie my darling, you look simply DIVINE in that apron._ “Everything’s PRECISELY as I recalled, Miss Cresta” and still the joke hangs uncomfortably in the air between them because a) the Capitol has hurt everything about her / them and also b) everything is not how he recalled, surely he can see how she looks like being dead and being used? Oh and too – c) she hates when he says “Miss Cresta,” reminds her of her tragic misnomer when everyone should be saying at the very least _Mrs._

Annie reaches up, touches his hair – relief. _This_ is actually how she remembered it: tousled, shining, soft. She rakes her fingers, smiles so wide, giggles and at that he grins a little, she can see it tugging, wants to tug it for him and normally she would but for some reason it feels like they’re playing a game, some secret game where touch isn’t allowed? Like before, like public. Still, one joy, saying: “Finnick.” Can’t stop saying it. Gorgeous in a mouth. “Finnick.” Threads hair around slender fingers. “Finnnnicckkkk.”

The tug again. How she wishes to slip a finger to the dimple of that half-smile. “Annnieeee.”

“Hi Finnick.” Instinctively, she scratches at the needle, suddenly shy.

And he carefully pulls the hand away. “Hi, my love.”

Maybe: quell wasn’t real? Stranger fantasies have happened, long spells that leave her convinced of an alternate to the inevitable ending. Maybe it was like when she leaves: maybe this is the hospital after her Games, when she had to get better and remember how to want to be alive and he would visit and sit at the edge of the bed, hands in his lap? But why does Finnick look so tired then, and why was he calling her love when that came so much later, and also where are the bright windows she remembered, and the Capitol attendants who kept guard?

As if on cue: his voice, weary but hopeful, a small, exhausted smirk playing on his mouth (for the first time Annie wonders: how long was she out for, and was he sitting here keeping watch the whole time, and how did she ever deserve someone as wonderful as him also?), still trying to make her laugh, always: “shall we go through a rundown, Lady Annabeth?”

Morning routine. So happy she could die, if only she’d woken up beside him though – “If you insist, good sir.”

“Can I—?” He touches – is it the fingertip? But she can’t feel it… no, the fingernail! Smooth like a shell. It’s so silly she wants to giggle. Squeezes his hand and tries to smile. His hands both cover the one, hold it tight. So _fucking_ warm like beauty, like everything. “Okay.” He brings his face close to hers, can’t help it, does he also remember when they used to do this at the dawn when the gulls started and the sky became luminous and the ocean ready, how they used to wake up simultaneously like something out of a myth, his breath of sugar, soft, warm, cautiously optimistic. “Okay. Who are you?”

Knows this one. “Annie Cresta, of District 4. Victor of the 70th Hunger Games, dear companion to Finnick Odair.” Already she can feel it working: grounding, the room becoming clearer, the bed solid underneath her, everything just a bit crisper.

Finnick gives another half-smile like relief. Really, she could kill him. “And who am I?”

“Said Finnick Odair, victor of the 65th. Charming. Illustrious. Home.” (It isn’t an adjective but she knows that he knows what she means. Finnick like a hearth: steady, strong, warm, crackling, waiting as an anchor – a reality to return to.)

She can hear each breath: slow, catching, anxious with worry and affection and what it means to the dear.

His voice drops just barely to softer. Like sand, or else the trickling of water? Like a stream, no smaller – drizzling. “And where are we?”

Suck in a deep breath, head don’t go, where are we now? _With Finnick_ , wants to say, _and possibly alive?_ Although hasn’t ruled out the possibility of dead and this is what’s after, but Finnick wouldn’t look so tired and starved in heaven and also why is he so hungry? _Where are we_ possibly are they in the Capitol after all Annie remembers that hospital the paralysis the pain the blood the hurt but if it were the Capitol Finnick would not touch and also wouldn’t be wearing a shirt so that leaves 4? 4 but can taste the air and it isn’t like 4, too stale like sulpher or cremation, no salt, just ashy, victory memories of 12?

Concentrate. Only three anagrams for district: _strict id. Tic dirts. Tics dirt._ Basically cheating with the plurals…?

“Love? Do you know where we are?”

_Somewhere impossible._ A place where she is being made well but not made up where Finnick touches her but it’s not the inside of his house or a shore or a dune or a closet, bathroom, rooftop, hidden places where they did not always make love just say _I know you, I love you_ where one can’t tell if it’s day or night where district 13 exists even though it shouldn’t where it is alive also _yes_ – there it is, there – “Thirteen?”

“Uh-huh.” He must be proud, right? “And it’s real, too. I can barely believe it.”

Ordinarily: the part where he is silly, vibrant, loving, quizzing her on spelling words and the anatomy of a mermaid ( _Finnick they AREN’T real But love, I’m sure I saw one yesterday – said her name was Annie Cresta?_ ) and who makes the best pancakes in all of Panem (him) and who does he most adore (her) and what is her middle name, just to get her to say it all its hideous glory: _…myllicent… What was that, dear, I can’t hear you? mYllicenttt… Sorry? Myllicent Myllicent MYLLicent at least it isn’t DAEGLEN Mr. Finnick DAEGLEN Oda—_

Instead he skips straight to the end: “and are we safe?”

_Yes, we’re very safe because you are holding my hand. No, we’re not because you are so far away still._ Makes her voice soft: “if you say so, then I believe you.”

He presses his lips to her hand. “I promise, we’re safe.”

_We’re safe._ Just like that: tears, suddenly overwhelming, everywhere, silent, streaming, thunderstorm (hurricane?), leaking, dripping, body shaking, hurt breaths that hurt ribs, shuttering—

(Finnick looks – hurt too. Like he’s been punched. And/or broken.) “Lady Annabeth,” he murmurs, voice quivering, kissing her balled up hand again and again, “you passed. You passed. 100%. Flying colors.”

Words that don’t sound like words but jags, spasms exploding out of a too-small mouth like a baby’s: “you’re” “so” “far” “away”

“Hey. Don’t cry – don’t, Annie, please don’t cry. I would come closer if I—”

Annie whimpers a little _mew_ of pain and _there he is,_ like he couldn’t take it – crawling into the bed beside her, holding her impossibly tight like always, pressure as relief, letting her bury her face in his chest and cry, kissing her hair, protecting her, fervent apologies into her ear: _I’m so sorry love I’m so sorry you’re so safe I’m sorry they said you were afraid to be touched because of I’m sorry love they said because of what they think – because of what they thought – I’m sorry in the Capitol, you don’t have to tell me, you don’t have to tell me, my fault, my heart my fault, I’m so sorry, they weren’t supposed to hurt you touch you I wasn’t supposed to touch you_ —

“It’s not your fault,” Annie murmurs. “M’proud of you.”

_I’m not proud of this, I’m sorry, let me know if I’m hurting you, I don’t want to – they said I shouldn’t—_

“M’proud. From what I hear you’re _quite_ the rebel.” She shuts her eyes, knowing it’ll sound ridiculous: “Just wish you’d let me in on it. I wanna fight too.” And opens them just in time because _there it is_ : the smile, his full smile, beaming, showing all his teeth, kissing her hair again and again, _Annie love, oh_ —

Annie looks up into his face – beautiful, real, healing too, just like hers.

She leans and it hurts the ribs, quiet gasp of pain, he bends, she kisses his nose the way he does, hers. “Don’t forget: ink connives finale.”

(Once upon a time: two people who were not supposed to be terribly in love, forced to Capitol parties and public outings in which they could not acknowledge existing to each other, finding ways to speak anyway and Annie remembers last year – was it just last year? – celebrating star-crossed lovers and being in a small circle in a tiny tiny nude dress that made her want to be dead and Finn without a shirt again and also Cashmere was there, and Brutus and Enobaria and also was it Jo? And Finnick holding a glass with liquor and Annie was almost slumping to the floor because everywhere were people who wanted to hurt Finnick with his body but then Finnick winked at her, said casually to Brutus, “Well, you know, vino likens finance.”

“What the hell, Odair?”

And Annie’s mind was racing a thousand thoughts a second – _vino?_ – and then she beamed: “And: knaves incline info!”

Baria didn’t think Annie saw her lock eyes with Cashmere, roll hers – _mad girl speaks!_ – but Annie did, didn’t matter, held her secret kept it warm in her gut: a thousand ways to remember _Finnick loves Annie Annie loves Finnick_ with a little rearranging.)

Sure enough: he laughs, sounds strangled. “Cannon vilifies Ken.”

“Poor Ken. Incisive flank neon.”

“Fiance oven silk inn.”

“Naïve confines link.”

“Infancies novel kin.”

A head is swimming with vowels, infinities of permutations. “You said we’re safe here, Finn?”

“Very safe.” He kisses her mouth, he kisses her neck, taste.

“No bugs?” feels the panic rising: “no cameras? No peacekeepers no guards no—”

“We’re safe, my love.”

“D’you wanna just…?”

“What?”

She bats her eyelashes like another person. “My head hurts. I’m sick of spelling. Is there a hallway?”

“Mm.” Kisses the inside of her wrists, kisses her collarbone, kisses the bruises that begin above her breasts. “Mmhmm.”

“Does it echo?”

“I’d imagine…”

“Finnick? Can we?”

These two? Everything must be negotiated: at first insisting on walking but legs hurt, everything, ribs, breathing, thighs like fire, sharp pain of remembering and also new healing and recent hurt – instead he carries her and at first she is afraid she will be afraid but she isn’t, carrying her like he cares deeply, trailing the IV stand behind them, a small, slow, exhausted parade of two people looking beaten.

Gripping the stand and his arm and the wall and herself Annie can stay on her feet in the hall and Finnick keeps his arm tightly around her waist as though she might dissolve like so much sea foam.

“Do you want to go first?” Already their voices reverberate – _do you want to go first? do you want to go first?_ , a thousand mirrored chivalries.

“You can. My throat’s kinda sore.”

Finnick draws an enormous breath, stares down the length of the hall whose end Annie cannot even see, glances at the stray nurses and doctors, grins, squeezes his eyes shut, opens his mouth hugely wide:

“FINNICK LOVES ANNIE!”

It bounces everywhere: _Finnick loves Annie! Finnick loves Annie!_

Annie: gathers strength, breathes as deep as chest will let her, summons courage, tries to remember to savor the taste of words deprived for so goddamn long.

And screams:

“ANNIE LOVES FINNICK!”

_Annie loves Finnick! Annie loves Finnick! Finnick loves Annie! Annie loves Finnick loves Annie loves Finnick loves Annie loves—_

Feels like the whole world can hear them: his/her dead parents, his/her dead brother, 4, Mags, prep teams, Capitol wo/men, head doctors, interviewers, gossips, universes, Snow. Deafening like a cannon or a secret imploding, deliciously public, common to all.

Annie laughs: “Shit! I effing _love_ this punk!” (Annie can’t stop laughing.)

“And I _love_ this _weirdo_ ,” he declares, holding her near like a waltz or being asleep in their bed, fitting two pieces into one whole. “I love her I love her I love her I love her…Can you hear me, Snow? I said _I LOVE HER._ ”

 


	3. chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When rescue isn't pretty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW suicidality and sexual violence
> 
> Bit of a dark chapter

Annie needs Finnick’s help for a lot of things. Some of these include: sitting and holding hands while answering questions like _why where how what_ on the subject of insertions & other tragedies, taking a shower (still waiting for that love of water to return, it still stings, in the Capitol she’d craved a shower b/c she was never allowed but now being naked feels like an injury), trying to remember how to do things that inspire being alive, like eating, and also not wanting to kill herself.

Here is how it feels: these wild, radiant swings between passionate lover’s joy and an overwhelming desire to be not alive. Sometimes Annie wishes for morphling (they’d cut it off – Prim was watchful, Annie’d give her that) or white liquor, but was afraid of what a drunken self might say though, say _ha haha, hahaha Finnick, kill me please_.

So much talk of killing: he wants to kill them for what they did to her, says words like _violence violate_ , murmurs about it to anyone who asks as though it’s not her own secret to tell, now she knows everyone knows, can see it, Soldier Hawthorne could see it, how it all hurt like everything. Finnick wants to _kill everyone who touched you_ to _kill Snow_ and Annie thinks isn’t it awful how this lovely thing, this snow, had to be ruined by someone who made it its namesake. It doesn’t snow in 4 but she’d heard of it. Worldly.

Annie wants to say _no more killing_ but that would be a lie and secretly she is creating escape hatches, looking around the room for the mechanisms of an easy suicide, trying to figure out a way out should she need it. It feels so selfish, this sadness, she feels like she should feel nothing but an easy elation of being with him & yet. When alone? This horrible sadness of being alive. This horrible. Sadness. Sadness.

It’s how this touch that used to feel like beautiful poetry now feels like inelegant prose, all staccato, all wrong. When he wipes her damp hair from her brow after a particularly bad panic all she can feel is anxiety now. That touch like _violence, violate_. So many ways to say something that happened. _Did they rape you did they rape you did they_

It’s how it feels like he deserves better – some kind of beautiful bride who isn’t broken, who doesn’t flinch at romance, who doesn’t have spells – long spells, where she dissolves into fear and where she hits and claws and punches and weeps – this breathtaking specimen of goodness, he deserves so much better, so much more lovely, so much less a mess. He deserves someone who will not disappear into her mind and actually _scratch_ him, leaving a long silver stripe by his left eye like some abusive adolescent. He deserves someone who will be bright and happy, who will take the drugs the head doctors give instead of creatively hiding them under her tongue, who will not need to be bathed (he bathes her now when she can’t handle the shower, very gently with a sponge, and he cries, and she cries, and it’s awful) and who will fuck him. He deserves someone cheerful. He deserves a wife who will make him pretty, undamaged babies. He deserves the untouched, better than torn apart beat up damaged goods with cracked ribs and vaginal tearing.

He deserves someone who treats his friends better: who doesn’t ask try to ask Haymitch for a drink (“Joking! Joking!” to Finnick’s death stare), who doesn’t look right through Beetee, who doesn’t fake sleeping when Katniss Everdeen, who is Everything Annie Wants To Be And Can’t, strolls in casually. She hears Katniss and Finnick talking in low voices about Peeta – Peeta who Annie cares deeply about, Peeta who is like Annie, who is fragile – and about Annie too, Finnick saying _trauma_ , saying _comfort_ , saying _sometimes looking at her sometimes it hurts me_. And Katniss says _mmhmm,_ says _keep me posted_ , says _good luck, Annie_ as though Annie is awake (which she technically is, but Katniss doesn’t know that).

Good luck indeed. Annie thinks about it often. She carries that _good luck_ with her when the anxiety is so bad it makes her vomit, the panic of it. Wonder why the meds aren’t working, Prim is confused. Mmmm says Annie. I don’t know. _Good luck, Annie_.

Annie needs Finnick’s help for a lot of things, and one of them is also Johanna. When Annie is up to it they go to visit her for the first time, but Jo is sleeping. For a long time they keep a vigil, just looking at her: that torn flesh body, that ripped-up scalp, that fractured face.

Johanna got hurt bad. Johanna got tortured. Johanna had Information.

Annie is a baby. Annie barely got hurt. Annie is puking her guts out with pain over Nothing and Johanna is sleeping soundly, her whole body in shreds. Annie is pathetic.

After a half hour or so, Finnick steps into the hallway to talk to Haymitch – Haymitch, who’s always kissed Annie’s hand and made her laugh, is avoiding her now, scared of her, doesn’t know how to deal with broken glass women. He’ll give her curt nods, sure, but not much else. Agony.

Just when Finnick’s out, it happens: Johanna’s eyes flicker open.

“Hey dipshit,” Johanna croaks. “How’s it hanging?”

Annie starts. “You’re awake.”

“No, I’m still asleep,” Jo deadpans.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Oh, pretty rotten. You?”

Annie looks away. “Terrible.”

“Yeah. Figured.” Johanna shifts. “Seen Katniss?”

“No.” _Who needs her?_ “Why?”

“She’s been here a lot. Must’ve stepped out.” Johanna looks away. “S’a friend. You’d like her.”

How do you say, _I want to Be Her._ How do you say, _I want to Be Everything She Is_. “Maybe,” says Annie.

“Where’s the loverboy?”

“Finn’s outside.”

“Left you alone? Shit.”

“I can barely stand it.”

“Yeah I bet.” Johanna yawns and it somehow seems cranky. “Feel good to be reunited?”

"Mm.”

            “How’re you doing? What’s the verdict?”

            “Few cracked ribs and bruising.”

            “Pregnant?”

            Annie looks away. “No.”

            “That’s good.” Johanna smiles a little, like relief. “Was worried.”

            “Well.”

            “You tell him?”

            Long silence then. _Did they did they did they did they_

            What did Annie say? Annie said _no!_ Annie said _they didn’t_. Even though it was so obvious – found naked, flinching at touch, her insides all torn up and bleeding. Finnick told them to stop pushing her, relief all over his face. She didn’t want to take that relief away.

            “They hurt me. Same as you. Not as bad, but same as you.”

            “You know that’s a lie,” says Jo. “Aren’t you the sweet honest one?”

            Annie shrugs and looks away. “It’ll hurt him too much.”

            “I think he can handle it. You know? All things considered.”

            But Annie doesn’t want to consider all things. Annie wants to consider very few things, actually.

            “Maybe someday,” Annie says. “But not right now. He’s hurting enough,” she murmurs.

            Just then, there he is. “Jo! You’re up.” He’s at her side immediately, kisses a scrape-free spot on Johanna’s cheek. “How do you feel?”

            “Oh, _dandy_ ,” Johanna says all flat, but there’s the whisper of a grin on her face. Finnick grins and tousles her – what, scalp? No hair there – and Annie finds herself fading.

            _Tell him tell him_ – but then he’ll see it every time he looks at her, these hands that have been all over the surface of the body, these wanting eyes and amorous tongues that took what they wanted and didn’t ask for permission. Annie is sure if you shined a blacklight on her you’d see endless fingerprints, spit & semen everywhere, some dirty object smeared with gunk. When Finnick bathes her Annie wants to say _scrub_ , say _wash harder_ , say _take off this layer of skin, please, I don’t want it anymore_.

            “Love?” Finnick’s voice pulls her back. “You okay? You’re fading fast.”

            “Mm.” Annie leans against him heavily. “Mmhmm.”

            Finn murmurs something to Johanna and helps her into the bedside chair. He kneels on the ground before her and for a flicker Annie is mortified that Johanna sees them as he cups her face with his hands. “Stay with me, Annie, okay? Shh. Stay here.”

            Talks to her like she’s a kitten or a child or a very broken girlfriend. Annie tries to form _Okay_ but her words feel all slurred together. She grips his arm hard.

            “Hey there,” he says, forcing eye contact. “I love you. Stay here, dear.”

            But if Annie looks him in the eye surely he’ll see a secret, surely he’ll know everything, be able to read her. She twists away.   _I’m Fine. I’m Fine. I’m Fine._

And darts into the hallway, taking three big-girl strides before collapsing to the floor.

 


	4. chapter four

dreamscape: annie spills into other / continents legs / melting underneath her eyes / fluttering shut like / so many flies. around her she can hear the buzz of / care, prim everdeen calling for help maybe, johanna’s “what the _fuck_?” maybe, someone’s arms lifting her up and annie hopes it isn’t finnick, wishes / he wouldn’t have to carry her again, he is always / carrying her places.

            where does she go? goes to mags, who’s scolding saying _annie, you can’t / let him baby you you have to / be strong_ goes to katniss everdeen, every / radiant burst of her arrow like power, the power of a woman in love, women’s love as power, when she heard it was a ruse she / wanted to die, everything is making her / wanting to die, has anyone ever felt this intensity of emotion before? has anyone ever felt like this before?

            goes to: johanna, hacking away, johanna who went back into the games, who didn’t need to be volunteered for like a / baby johanna who’d had and flushed away her own / baby johanna who no one treated like a / baby johanna johanna, lethal johanna, johanna and katniss the woman in love.

            katniss and / peeta, peeta like passivity, peeta like annie, peeta “strong in his special way.” / (what she was always getting) / when they were in cages johanna grit her teeth but peeta wept like / annie, peeta and annie consoled each other with / stories, peeta and annie from the other side of the equation, the prim side, where people go when they need to be protected. peeta with his games-torn / leg, annie with her games-torn / mind, sometimes annie thinks all johanna needs is someone to be her jabberjay, someone she needs to be protect.

            annie wants to ask, _but who will_ i _protect?_

finnick. annie will take care of / finnick finnick / scraping off his skin in the bathroom finnick who / tried to make love to her like an expert, all showy, all _see how many times i can make you cum?_ and annie’d said _i like it best when you’re awkward,_ said / _i like it best when you fumble, and you scratch me, and you slobber, and you can’t find my clit, i prefer you as a / novice, wish you didn’t have this / expertise you never asked for._ finnick who cooked for her. finnick who plotted his nightmares on a calendar, trying to figure out the cycle like a period, realized which / clients made his mood get south. finnick who tried to give her a necklace from a capitol woman, how they’d both cried. _i wanted to find you something pretty,_ he’d said. annie knew better than _i have you._ annie knew they all called him pretty. she hated the word.

            remembered when she was a / tribute, remembered saying “wish i had your pretty face” in one desperate attempt at / gallows humor (all games humor is gallows humor) and mags had said _call him anything but pretty please_ mags mags

            mags who finnick had let / die for this revolution so they could be _here_ , feeling awful & melted on the floor, mags who had not / coddled her, mags who had said _annie get dressed, annie comb your hair, annie let’s get moving_ until there was finnick to care for her, to brush her hair for her, said he loved it, made him feel calm.

            _but who will make_ me _feel calm?_

mags who found calmness in herself mags who / took care of herself mags who / loved herself mags who / protected annie from certain death or alternatively having to watch finnick die to protect her. awful, awful, awful. / mags like a savior like johanna, like katniss, when annie could only ever muster the energy to be saved.

            “Annie? Love, can you hear me?”

            _but who will_ i _rescue?_

“Annie? Annie, can you hear me?”

            _but who will_ i _take care of----_

Snap. The eyes open. The head? Taut. Arms – oh, the hands are clasped together. Like holding one’s own hand. Lovely. “Finn?”

            He’s holding her on the floor. They’re surrounded – Prim, head doctors, physicians, even Johanna, her IV on wheels. Sharp blush rises to the cheeks – _everyone is looking at me_. “You scared me,” he murmurs. (He’s always murmuring.)

            “I’m sorry.”

            “Don’t be.” Finnick kisses her forehead. “It was a mistake, heading out of your room. Let’s get you some rest.”

            He carries her back to her designated room without saying goodbye to Johanna. Annie feels awful.

            Finnick with Johanna is like someone else entirely – teasing, crude, lascivious, sarcastic, snarky. Nothing like the tender, cautious, warm Finnick she knows. Sometimes she enjoys seeing that side of him – so bold and vivacious. Sometimes she wishes he were that way with her, making filthy jokes and seeing if she’ll squirm.

            “I wanna walk,” Annie says about halfway through.

            “I don’t want you to strain yourself. You’ve had a long day already.”

            “I wanna walk, Finn.”

            He puts her down but supports her heavily. They shuffle forward.

            “Why’d you run out of the room, sweetheart?” he whispers into her ear. (He’s always whispering into her ear.) “What’s wrong?”

            “Nothing’s wrong.”

            “We don’t keep secrets, Annie,” he reminds her, stroking her hair with a free hand. They manage their way into the room, and Annie collapses onto the bed.

            “Nothing’s wrong. Johanna was being Johanna. I just. I couldn’t.”

            “You couldn’t…?”

            “Please, please stop asking me if something is wrong when nothing is wrong! Please!” Annie pulls her knees up to her chest, code for _don’t touch me._

            Finnick sits beside her carefully. “Okay. Okay.”

            They’re quiet for a long time, and gradually Annie unfurls, resting her head in his lap. He pets her like she’s a kitten or beloved. “Finn?”

            “Mm?”

            “Will you let me care for you right now?”

            There’s a long silence. “Of course, love,” he says slowly. “Whatever you want.”

            So Annie stands up carefully. “Lie back,” she orders, and he does. “Let me tuck you in,” she demands, and he does – she does it so delicately, carefully patting down every edge of the hospital bed. “Let me stroke your hair,” she insists, pulling up a chair beside the patient’s bed, and so he does. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart,” she murmurs like him, touching his cheek and his hair and his lips. “You’ll be okay, Annie. Shh. Shh. You’ll be okay.”


	5. chapter five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi there's a fight in this chapter, sorry fam

Week pass, and now they have a home together: one tiny cell of a room, one bed. On the first of the month Annie comes home early from her head doctor – claimed nausea and a headache, a combination she’d always proclaimed to be lethal (lethal as – what, Johanna, Katniss, Cashmere, all of these violent women Annie will never never be as sexy as?). Craves a nap, feels almost animalistic in her desire for a quick & easy hibernation.

            First, though? A shower.

            Finnick doesn’t seem to be home yet – some meeting with Coin, maybe? he’s always having those, she’s never invited – so Annie strips off her clothes carelessly, flings them around the room, has power. A shower, yes – steamy and warm, maybe warm enough to wash off this awful, embarrassing schedule from her arm that has _therapy_ from 9-5 like she’s an imbecile.

            Annie is just opening the door when----

            “Oh my god! Oh my god, oh my god I’m so sorry.”

            (And there’s Finnick, eyes shut, humming quietly, and very clearly jerking off.)

            Annie jams the door shut but not before he pops his eyes open, surprised, and sees her whole naked, exposed body and Annie is mortified, tries to grab anything to cover her and Annie is panicking, sits down on the floor with her back to the door, does deep breaths.

            After a few minutes, a strained voice calls out: “Annie?”

            “I’m sorry!” she calls back. “I’m so sorry.”

            “Don’t be sorry. _I’m_ sorry. Embarrassing. Yikes.” His voice is closer to her now, must be just on the other side of the door. “You okay? You seem…”

            She ignores him. She wishes she could be Johanna, could strip down and be hilarious and sexy and smart. She wishes she could be Katniss, all smolder and fire and fierceness. She even wishes she could be Cashmere, with ropes of blonde hair and big breasts and too many lovers to count.

She wishes her reaction wasn’t to jerk away but to jump in with him, to finish him off, to be sexy and wild and _exciting_ instead of anxious and weird. She wishes she and Finnick hadn’t last made love the night before the Quarter Quell. She wishes she could masturbate, too, instead of still being afraid of her own body.

Annie tries to be the Famous Finnick Odair. She musters up her courage. Stands up, juts out her hip, tosses her hair back, pushes her breasts forward, places her hand just so, and opens the door.

            He’s looking at her in shock & horror when she says, her voice high like a baby doll or a Capitol woman, “Should I _join_ you in there, baby?”

            Finnick’s reaction is immediate. “Don’t ever talk like that. Annie? Don’t you _ever_ do that.” He puts his head in his hands, squeezes his eyes shut. “What did I do? You sound like…” (A slut? A whore?) “You sound like me. Stop that. Look at me. Okay? Here’s a towel. You want to shower? You should go for it. I can guard the door like I usually do. Don’t ever talk like that again.”

             “Finnick?” She takes the towel gratefully, wraps it around herself. “Finnick, I’m sorry. Finnick, will you have sex with me?”

            “I’m sorry, what?”

            “Will you. Have sex? With me? Will you have sex with me?”

            He leans against the sink, eyes shut again. “Annie, what’s going on?”

            “Nothing I just nothing I um I just I feel so I feel so inadequate.” The words bubble out, frantic and exhausted, and then she’s crying a little, softly, tears streaming, shoulders heaving.

            “Hey now.” He moves to hug her, then stops short – the bare skin of shoulders. Wraps another towel around her before he embraces her. This way, no skin touches skin. “Hey now. Shhh. S’okay sweetheart. You’re okay.”

            Annie places her face in the cleft of his neck, tries not to weep. “I don’t wanna be okay. I wanna be more than okay. I wanna be able to give this to you.”

            “Sex isn’t…”

            “What, Finnick? What’re you going to tell me? Sex isn’t giving and taking?” She whips her head back. “That’s a fucking joke.”

            “Don’t be like that.”

            “You give sex all the time. I want to give you sex.”

            Finnick yanks a hand through his hair. “You’ve never even called it that before.”

            “What?”

            “ _Sex._ You’ve always called it ‘making—”

            “Maybe I’m growing up, then!” Annie crosses her arms over her chest, angry tears clustering again _god_ , she hates it, _I hate it I hate it why do I always have to cry?_ “Maybe I’m trading in the art of badassery now.” She stands up abruptly. “You want me don’t you don’t you want me?”

            Drops the towel. Finnick lurches back, practically throws it back at her.

            “Yes! Yes I want you! Of course I want you!” Now he’s almost pulling at his hair. “What the hell is going on, Annie?” 

            “I’m trying to do something nice for you.”

            “And I’m telling you – I don’t want you to _give_ me sex, that’s not what I want.”

            “Because you don’t want me.”

            “No! No. Because I don’t want you like that.”

            “Like that? Like sexy, like beautiful, right because you want me like sweetheart, like baby, like love—”

            “I don’t want you like a goddamn object! You’re more than just an object. I’ve been trying to—” (Here he groans, yanks at his hair again.) “I’ve been trying to keep you from being turned into a fucking object. _They_ made you their object anyway, I couldn’t save you from that but I won’t make you an object again I won’t I won’t.”

            _I won’t I won’t. I won’t make you an object again._

Annie whispers, “I’m sorry.” Annie whispers, “Okay. Okay.”

            _I won’t make you an object again._

“Everyone here is a soldier, Finn,” she murmurs. “I’m not like that. I want to be like that but I’m just not.”

            “And being a soldier means having a lot of sex you don’t want to have? Some war.”

            “It means being tough. It means being Katniss, or Johanna…”

            “But I’m not in love with Katniss. And I’m not in love with Johanna. You’re gentle, I’m in love with you. You’re gentle with me. I love _you_.”

            She sinks onto the bed, still clutching the towel. Because they aren’t married, it’s bunk beds – they sleep spooned on the top, where it’s safer from harm. “I’m not valuable here.”

            “You’re valuable to me.”

            Annie feels herself fading fast, shuts her eyes tightly. “I want to be valuable _beyond_ you.”

            “Annie…”

            And there it is – the sound of swords hitting flesh, too much stress, cannons, Annie clamps her hands tight over her ears.

            _Valuable valuable valuable_

(“Now Annie, _what_ do you think will be your most valuable asset in the Games?”)  (“God dammit, I wish I had a _valuable_ ally! I’m supposed to be with the Careers, Annie! Not some _girl_ …”)

            (“Dear Miss Cresta, what do you think a girl like you is really valuable for beyond that… _body_ of yours…”)

            Flashes of what Nolan screaming at her in the arena, berating her before _slice_ and also her interview and the spot in the cell in the Capitol what _slice_ and also _flash_ and there, so valuable, so—

            “Hey there, hey there, come back to me, come back to me…”

            Annie slowly drifts back to reality. There’s Finnick, spooning her on the bottom bunk, singing into her ear and gripping her hands tightly so she can’t scratch herself, both of them naked. “Hey there, hey my love. Come back to me.”

            “Mmm… Finn?”

            “Hi darling. Can we do a run-down? Please?”

            Annie feels so tried after a spell, pulls his arms around her tightly, moans a little.

            “Tell me who you are.”

            “Annie.”

            “Annie what?”

            “Annie Cresta.”

            “And who am I?”

            “Finn.”

            “Annie…”

            “Finnick Odair. Victor-lover-killer-boyfriend…” (Still out of it, still floating somewhere like Four, some ocean, the hands splaying out, the legs wafting…)

            “And where are we?”

            “Mm… do I have to?”

            He strokes the hair, kisses the cheek. “Yes. You have to.”

            “You said you wouldn’t force me…”

            “Annie, do you know where we are?” She can hear the panic rising, the way his voice heightens in pitch.

            “13.”

            “And are we safe?”

            “Dunno are you gonna get hard.”

            “Annie...”

            “Yes. I guess. We’re sort of. Safe.”

            “Are you feeling unsafe?”

            “Can you please just lay off me for one minute.”

            “You know why we do this, don’t you?”

            “Why.”

            Finnick’s voice is tight, hard. “Because you have stress-induced audio hallucinations and post-traumatic-stress triggered flashbacks. Because you have been known to have episodes in which you self-harm and occasionally become violent. Because sometimes you come to and don’t know where you are. That. Is why.”

            “We’re safe, then.” All of the sudden, his embrace feels like a vice. “Do you think Peeta does this to Katniss Everdeen, Finnick? I bet you he doesn’t. I bet he never would.”

 


End file.
